


Too Sensible of My Defects

by aidennestorm, botanical_mysteries



Series: Too Sensible of My Defects [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Codependency, Depression, Discovery, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Incest, Incest Kink, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Panic Attacks, Parent/Child Incest, Past Underage, Polyamory, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, established Alexander/Gilbert, rape mention, they are trying their best, they really do love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanical_mysteries/pseuds/botanical_mysteries
Summary: George Washington is a successful lawyer, a widower, and a proud father to two brilliant sons, Alexander and Gilbert. He believes they’re an open, honest family despite the distance that life and work and college has wrought between them.But his boys have a secret, one that threatens to tear their already hurting family apart—Or it might just bring father and sons truly together for the first time ever.





	1. George

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here, folks! 
> 
> Just a heads up, we are not kidding about the incest thing. We do not let you forget what you're reading. If that is going to squick or trigger you, please carefully consider if this fic is right for you.
> 
> That said, if you choose to read it, we hope you enjoy!

The blackout had been going on for an hour before Henry Knox burst into George’s office, cell phone in hand.

“Technical fault,” he said. “It’s just our building, thank God, but it won’t be fixed until tonight. We might as well send everyone home.”

George sighed and nodded in agreement. “That’s for the best. I’m guessing the elevators are out of commission?”

“Yep,” Henry said, popping the ‘p’. “They’re working on freeing the poor bastards that got stuck, and there’s guys coming to help people that can’t use the stairs on their own. But we’ll be walking down 30 floors. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Hey, it’s exercise,” George said wryly. Henry rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go deliver the good-slash-bad news. You head on home.”

“Alright. Thanks, Henry.”

“Any time.”

George packed up his things. At least he would have power at home. And if the boys didn’t have plans for the night, maybe they could actually have a proper family dinner. It had been bad enough when they were in high school, but now they were at college, and between part time jobs, classes, studying, and friends, it felt like he barely saw them.

He grabbed his phone and shot them off a text.

_Alex, Gil. There’s been a blackout in our building. It won’t be fixed until tonight so I’m heading home. Maybe we can rustle up something for dinner together?_

He hadn’t gotten a reply by the time he’d slid into his car, but that was fine. Alex had a tendency to jam his headphones on and get utterly absorbed in writing his papers, and Gil was notoriously awful at checking his phone.

That was fine. They’d be there when he got home.

\--

The house was quiet, but Alex’s car was still parked in the driveway, and Gil’s bike was still chained to the front patio, so they had to be home. Probably studying, he thought, smiling fondly. Alex followed after him, studying law and political science. Gil was taking an odd mix of classes, just trying things out until he found what fit. It was only his first year, he was entitled to it.

His heart swelled with pride whenever he thought of them. They’d been through so much; the death of their mother, George’s… emotional detachment. The therapist he’d seen in the aftermath of Martha’s death had called it dissociating.

 _I just go through the motions, but I don’t feel like it’s real_ , he’d told her. _I keep expecting Martha to show up one day and tell me it’d all been a big joke, or her car had broken down, or she’d had to visit her parents, or... It’s like I’m in a dream. I’m in a dream but I can’t wake up_. _And meanwhile Alex and Gil are living their lives and I can’t reach them_.

And she’d told him it was a common trauma response, and he’d laughed. He wasn’t worried about himself. He was worried that he’d fuck his sons up irreparably, but here they were. Two strong young men. College students with friends and hobbies and jobs. He couldn’t be prouder.

The door to their shared study was open, and glancing in, George saw no signs of life. Their bedroom then?

He knocked. “Boys? You in there?”

There was no reply, though he was sure he heard scuffling, someone hissing, “Shh!”

He opened the door without thinking.

Time seemed to freeze.

Absurdly, George thought about how odd he’d found it when, even though he had said Alex could have his own room when he turned eighteen, Alex had declined it.

He thought about how he’d been confused but agreeable when they’d still wanted to share a bed.

“It’s an old habit. I sleep better next to someone else, I guess,” Gil had said, and George had allowed it. Thought that it made sense. Didn’t want his kids to sleep badly because of his notions of what a teenager’s bedroom should look like.

They’d always been close for brothers, but he’d thought it was good. They weren’t afraid to be affectionate in the way sisters could be, but brothers were supposedly barred from. He’d raised emotionally sensitive and sensible sons. That was good. Healthy.

 _Healthy_. He would laugh if he wasn’t so stunned. There was nothing in the parenting books he and Martha had poured over that said what to do when you walked in on your youngest son taking your oldest’s cock up his ass.

The worst thing, the worst thing was they didn’t stop. They didn’t shriek and rip away from each other and cover themselves, scream for George to get out. Didn’t cry or beg or say, “We can explain!”

Alex looked at him, eyes locked on his, and thrust forward into Gil. Gil’s head snapped back. He let out a shocky moan, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open. George felt himself hardening in his pants, cock rapidly filling. He stumbled backwards, horrified at himself, hoping he could escape before they _saw_. But Alex’s gaze flickered down. His eyes met George’s again and he smirked.

George slammed the bedroom door behind him, not daring to let himself stop or think or breathe until he’d reached the safety of his own bedroom. Until he’d locked the door behind him and sunk to the ground.

He felt too hot in his suit. He frantically tugged off his tie and threw it somewhere into the room, not seeing where it landed. His jacket and shirt followed. He refused to touch his belt. Refused to acknowledge how achingly hard he was. How restricted he felt. _Good_ , he thought. He should feel restricted, it should hurt, he _should_ be hurting for having this— this _reaction_.

His hand flew to his mouth as he choked back a sob. His sons, his boys… How had he not seen it? How had he been so _blind_?

He stayed like that, biting his palm and choking back tears, until his erection finally subsided. He stood on shaking legs and changed fully out of his work clothes into the first clean slacks and polo he could find. He hung up his jacket, put the shirt in the laundry basket, folded away his tie. Methodically tidied his room so he wouldn’t have to think.

He sat on his bed, feeling lost in his own home. He couldn’t go out there and face them—

But he _had_ to.

 _I can't do this to them,_ he had told his therapist months ago, finally exhausted from being perpetually in the throes of grief over Martha’s death. _I can't keep being absent because of my own turmoil. My boys… they deserve better. They deserve a better father._

 _You're already a better father,_ the therapist had said with a soft smile, _by admitting where you need some extra help. We’ll work on techniques you can use when you're feeling overwhelmed but need to stay engaged with the present._

George breathed, slow and shaky, his fingers digging into the mattress beneath his hands. He deliberately waited until the urge to sob aloud had subsided, then thought forcefully, _One. Stand up._

He stood.

_Two. Walk to the door._

He shuffled to the bedroom door.

_Three. Unlock the door._

The click of the lock disengaging as he turned the doorknob made him flinch, but he didn't remove his hand.

_Four. Open the door._

He took a breath. Pulled open the door to see a quiet, empty hallway.

_Five. Walk to the living room._

He didn’t let himself hurry, but didn’t slow too much either. He stepped one foot in front of the other, reminded himself, _You face opponents in the courtroom every day. You can face your sons._

He forcibly pushed away all thoughts of Alex’s smirk, Gil’s moan, the damning flood of insane desire that had coursed through his own veins… and by the time he rounded the corner to see Gil’s curly head of hair over the top of their plush, spacious couch, the mask was already firmly in place.

Gil heard his approach and sprang up from the couch, whirling to face him. “Dad—”

He looked… wary. More than a little unnerved. But there wasn’t a single shred of remorse in his dark, earnest eyes.

George waved him off and sank into the cushion beside him. His voice sounded blank to his own ears when he said, “Sit down, please, Gilbert.”

Gil sat heavily, eyes downcast, his hands clenched around his knees. He looked small and _god, how the fuck am I supposed to do this?_ George wondered, his heart seizing in his chest. “I’m not… I’m not mad,” he began, though he didn’t know if that was actually true and couldn’t tell for certain in the midst of the absolute cacophony of emotions roiling inside him. Gil’s head shot up to stare at him, and he continued, “But I need to know. How long has this been going on?”

“About two, two and a half years,” Gil answered quietly, this time not dropping his gaze. “Give or take.”

George had suspected as much, but had hoped beyond all reason that he was wrong… because that would have made Gil _sixteen_ when this— this— _whatever_ this was— had started.

_Jesus Christ._

He fought down the panic that started buzzing under his skin, the bile that rose in his throat… not only because it had been occurring under his nose, under his roof, without him ever having noticed, but if Gil was sixteen— Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Alex would have been _eighteen_.

“Alex,” George said, his voice unintentionally cracking. He cleared his throat. “Alexander is older than you, Gil. Did he… did he pressure you into this?”

“No!” Gil protested immediately, vehemently. “Dad, _no_. It wasn’t like that. Alex loves me and he would never hurt me.”

An inexplicable, bitter laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Alex _loves_ you,” he repeated, shaking his head because the world had gone wholly, completely insane in the span of a few moments he knew he could never unsee— “I suppose you could put it like that.”

Gil jerked back as if slapped, and Alex’s voice rang out from a point behind George’s shoulder, loud and whip sharp. “That was cruel, Dad.”

George didn’t turn his head. “Alexander,” he called. “Have a seat.”

Alexander came into view, fists clenched at his sides. George looked up at him, at his dark eyes glittering with defiance. George patted the space next to him. Alex shot a glance at Gil. George saw him nod slightly in his peripheral, and Alex relented and sat, let the bulk of George’s body separate him from his brother.

“We’re adults,” Alex immediately snapped, not even letting George draw breath. “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“Alex,” Gil implored, leaning over George, “don’t—”

“You’re going to _let him_ separate us?” Alex shouted. “It isn’t any of his goddamn business what we do!”

“You’re my _sons_ ,” George growled, throwing out an arm to keep Gil from reaching across to his brother. “You live under _my roof_ . You can’t—” his throat finally seized up, and George choked. “How the fuck didn’t I _see this_?”

He felt Gil’s hands wrap around his arm, soft and tentative. “Dad… We didn’t.... We can move out. We, we knew you wouldn’t… approve. We can leave.”

“No,” George said, too fast. “I don’t want you to move out. I want you to… stop. This. Whatever this is. I’ll find you therapists, you’ll have your own rooms, I’ll, I’ll work at home more so you aren’t left alone—”

“We’re not fucking stopping,” Alex hissed, his fingers digging into the couch. “We don’t need fucking therapists.”

“You’re _brothers_ ,” George said incredulously, gaping at Alex. “This can’t continue.”

“Who _cares?_ It’s not like we can have kids. We’re not hurting anyone,” Alex countered.

“You’re _brothers_. It’s not… it’s not okay.”

“Dad, you’re a lawyer,” Alex said, voice cutting. “You know that ‘just because’ isn’t an argument that has any fucking weight.”

“It’s _obscene—_ ” George snapped, and Alex laughed.

“So’s popping a boner at the sight of your sons fucking, but hey.”

“ _Alex!_ ” Gil hissed. “ _Stop it_.”

George clenched his fists where they were glued to his knees, grit his teeth. “That was—”

“Gil wants to pull the innocent good boy act,” Alex purred in George’s ear, “but do you know how hard he came once you’d left? How much he loved that _daddy_ saw him like that?”

George squeezed his eyes shut, the images coming unbidden to his mind. Gil flushed, writhing and shaking under Alex. Crying out as he came. His cock twitched in interest, and George prayed for his libido to keep itself in check.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want us,” Alex continued, his hand skirting towards his father’s lap. “I know what porn you watch, _Dad_. Those twinks look an awful lot like us. You need to learn to clear your browser history.”

Absurdly, the only thing George could think to say to that was, “That’s an _invasion of privacy_ , Alexander.”

“Oh? Oh you wanna talk about privacy?” Alex snapped. “Do you fucking know what a closed door _means?”_

“Well you don’t exactly expect to walk in on your sons fucking!” George shouted back, all rationality blown away by the utter absurdity of what his life had just become.

“Stop shouting!” Gil snapped. “Stop it!” He was shaking, his eyes shining with barely held back tears.  “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

Something George softened at the sight of Gil close to tears, the tension bleeding out of him, and out of the corner of his eye George could see Alex affected the same way.

“How did you think this would go?” George asked softly, looking at Gil’s eyes searchingly.

“Is it true?” Gil asked, ignoring George’s question. “You. You watch boys that look like us?”

“It’s a coincidence, I don’t know what Alex is on about—”

“Bullshit. You’re hard right now,” Alex scoffed, his hand now firmly planted on George’s thigh. He leaned in again, close to George’s ear, his breath tickling his father’s neck. “It’s okay to want us. We want you, too. So bad.”

George shuddered. “Alex—”

“ _Please_ ,” Gil begged. And he sounded so shattered, so desperate, that George’s self control broke.

George reached out, cupped the back of Gil’s head. Their lips were crashing together before he could even think, and he swallowed Gil’s soft gasp. He dimly registered Alex’s hands tightening on his thigh and his low hiss of breath, but under that and under the stunned, rational part of him that protested frantically _what the fuck are you doing?_ , the kiss felt—

It felt—

Christ, it felt _good_. Gil’s lips soft, his mouth pliant and willing, Gil whimpering low in his throat as he shifted closer, swinging his leg over George’s thigh and straddling him, not breaking the kiss. It felt _good_ , too, to indulge his boy, to take care of him, after years of disappointing him...

George drove deeper, a tentative touch of tongue, and Gil opened eagerly for him, hips stuttering forward, his cock already noticeably hardening again. It was a crash of cold reality, George’s chest freezing as he pulled back, and when he looked at Gil’s face— god, his son’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark and dazed and surprised.

Never one to be left out, Alex’s hand gripped his jaw, turned his face so they were finally looking at each other. Alex studied him for a quiet, fraught moment and then the pull was too strong for George to deny and they were moving at the same time, mouths insistent, all lips and teeth and tongue. George’s teeth nipped at his lips while Alex’s hand fisted in his shirt and tugged him forward, not pausing for a breath, groaning as George thrust his tongue deeper into Alex’s waiting mouth. Alex bit his lip too hard in turn and climbed into George’s lap, fitting himself around his brother and father, his cock hard against George’s thigh.

When George wrenched himself away, Alex was panting, wild, pleased satisfaction written all over his face. And both of them— Gil in his earnest gentleness, Alex in his intent ferocity— were staring at him.

His throat tightened uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to speak, and no words came out.

Alex and Gil glanced at each other— and, looking at them now, he could _see_ it, their wordless communication, the thoughts they exchanged with only a single locking of eyes, so hauntingly similar to what he shared with Mar—

 _No_. Dear god in heaven, _no—_ he should have clung to the thought, her memory a reminder of every boundary he was transgressing and every soul damning mistake. Instead, her ghost drowned in the crashing wave of undeniable _want_ when his boys each wedged a hand between them all and cupped him intimately. Not quite teasing, but enough pressure that his cock, already achingly hard, stirred further beneath their touches.

“Can we?” Gil asked, voice soft and wary.

He knew he should _leave_ , before he damned his sons with him. Before he made too many choices he could never justify or forgive himself for. Before his failure as a father became heart-shatteringly complete. But his blood thrummed with a need he had never realized he possessed until now, the overwhelming, unbearable desire to feel _more_ of the forbidden knowledge he had barely tasted— to feel their touch on his skin, to hear their broken moans, to see every line of pleasure carved into their young, too young faces— and before he could stop himself the word was tumbling, croaked and desperate from his mouth. “ _Yes_.”

It was Alex that worked his fly open. Gil that drew his cock out. The moment Gil’s hand touched his cock for the first time, his stomach dropped, a rush of blinding _feeling_ that left him gasping, “Oh, _god—”_

He couldn’t stop staring— at Gil’s hand curled around him, Alex’s joining it soon after. At the contrast between their coloring, their hands: so similar yet different, slender with long fingers, but Gil’s soft and Alex’s calloused from writing. He was mesmerized by the tableau of his sons touching him so intimately, _inappropriately_ , even as it left him simultaneously thrillingly breathless and vaguely queasy.  

Alex murmured in his ear, “You feel so fucking good,” while Gil pressed a string of hot, open kisses to his jaw, and George hadn’t been touched like this in _years_ , let alone with such surprisingly coordinated, undeniably skillful strokes, and it was all of a sudden too intense too overwhelming too soon _too real—_

He crumbled under the force of his orgasm, clinging to his boys as he tumbled headlong into powerful, inescapable pleasure. He couldn’t stop the groan that tore from his throat when he came over their hands; couldn’t stop the bruising grip he had on their hips, tugging them close. But when the rockslide of pleasure stilled, only one clear thought remained coherent above the rubble of everything he thought he knew:

_What have I done?_

_What have I done?_

_What have I done?_

Though it wasn’t a conscious choice, he must have made some sort of sound, because Alex and Gil were drawing back slightly, though they didn’t drop their intimate touch, Gil asking with gentle concern, “What’s wrong?”

George barked out a harsh laugh, his throat feeling scraped raw. “Everything— fuck, I shouldn’t— Please get off me, I need to go, I—”

Alex and Gil climbed off him, hasty but uncertain. Genuine confusion glittered in Alex’s eyes, and Gil looked terrified. George couldn’t talk, couldn’t get his mouth to work around the words he should’ve said before he ever let himself touch them, let them touch _him—_

It was too much, too much. With fumbling fingers, he tucked himself back into his pants, zipped up the fly, and stood. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to run back to his room, but to let his legs carry him normally. He still walked too fast as he turned toward his bedroom, and he heard Gil’s broken voice say, “Dad—” from behind him, and then Alex soothing, “Shh. He needs space, Gil.”

Everything was a blur until he found himself in his ensuite, retching into the toilet bowl. The remains of his meagre lunch burned his throat, coming up in hacking, shuddering coughs. The coughs turned to sobs as he let himself fall backwards, his back hitting the cool glass of the shower wall. He felt empty, numb, and too full all at once. He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed at his face with his palms, as if they would've helped at all. As if could scrub away what he'd _done_.

And the worst was that he could still feel the lingering echoes of their mouths and lips and hands, the weight of their slender bodies pressed against him, and even as he shook under the invisible branding, the hidden but indelible marks his sons had so enthusiastically left on him, he still ached and he still _wanted_.

 _What kind of man am I?_ he wondered blankly, the familiar dark fog settling over him, twining itself under his skin. _What kind of monster?_

As strong as he could feel his own pounding heartbeat, he felt the pulse of temptation, the pull toward his depression medication sitting _right there_ , only a scant few feet away on the vanity. He had just refilled his regular monthly prescription a week ago and there was almost a full bottle and he could—

He could—

 _Stop_ , he admonished. He forced himself to push away the thoughts like his therapist had taught him to do. To acknowledge them and let them go, to minimize their hold. _Death doesn’t fix anything,_ she had told him once. _There’s nothing after, and you never get to live to feel better._

But even as he reminded himself about her gentle encouragement, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t, not when it came to _this_.

But… George could hear them. His boys. The quick rise and fall of their voices, the words inaudible but their nearby presence undeniable. And even though all of this, _everything_ , was _his_ fault, and he deserved every punishment that could ever be envisioned, they still— even now— would probably blame themselves. And with Martha gone, he couldn’t leave them. Had already abandoned them enough for one lifetime.

It was that thought alone that made him stay sitting, legs stretched out in front of him, head resting against the shower door, arms folded over his torso as if he was trying to keep his shattered soul inside his body. He took a deep, unsteady breath and, still heartsick beyond all comprehension, closed his eyes.


	2. Gilbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments and all your kudos! It means so much to us <3 Again, please heed the tags and proceed accordingly.

Alex’s hand on his wrist, steady and firm, was his only anchor as he watched his father flee down the hallway and into his bedroom. He could feel the panic welling up from his stomach, rising like bile into his throat, made worse by the fact that his jeans were tight across his cock, hard again from the kiss he could still feel tingling on his lips, from the stickiness on his fingers. When he glanced over at Alex, his brother was faring no better, arousal straining his fly.

Normally it would have been an opportunity for one of them to pounce on the other with playful kisses and touches and low, drawn out moans. But nothing about this was _normal._

“We did we do?” he asked quietly, staring at his hand, voice barely escaping his lips. “Alex, what did we do?”

“Gil, it’s okay. Let’s get cleaned up first?” Alex suggested softly, tugging Gil along with him to the kitchen. He followed in a daze, his legs wobbly and uncoordinated. He let Alex wash his hands for him, watched his own father’s release swirl down the drain. He was shaking as Alex dried his fingers with a tea towel. The moment Alex turned to toss the towel on the counter and stopped touching him, Gil’s legs gave out and he dropped to the floor.

“Gil,” Alex said gently, crouching down in front of him and cupping his face. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Gil’s throat was tight; he stared down at his knees, unable to look at his brother, knowing he couldn’t bear to see whatever emotions would be flickering across Alex’s always too expressive face. “We— Alex, what if he didn’t _want_ that? Did we force him?”

“He said yes,” Alex huffed, his breath ghosting across Gil’s cheek. “He’s a grown-ass man who’s more than capable of using his words. Besides, you’ve _seen_ him, right? If he wanted us off, he could have moved us easily.”

"You know it’s not as simple as that, Alex,” Gil gasped, gripping his brother’s arm, words tumbling out of him as fast as the frantic beating of his heart. “Nothing— Nothing’s ever gonna be simple when it comes to us, you _know_ that, and we just… oh my god, we just— what if he’s not okay?”

“ _Hey._ ” Alex rubbed his thumbs gently across Gil’s cheekbones— a familiar, soothing gesture, one that Alex had started doing years ago and never failed to calm him. Alex repeated the motions until Gil felt his breaths even out and he was able to loosen the grasp on Alex’s arm, just a little. Alex’s voice was cautious when he asked, “Are _you_ okay?”

Gil’s head shot up and he stared at Alex, perplexed. “What?”

“Are _you_ okay?” Alex repeated, hands still resting on Gil’s face. “We’ve been talking about this for so long… I didn’t want you to be disappointed or— or discouraged.”

Gil swallowed. “I…”

It _had_ been a long time. He should have been satisfied with Alex, because wasn’t fucking your brother— being in _love_ with your brother— enough dysfunction for a lifetime? But there was an ache for more: a yearning for his family, all his family, _together_ , wholly devoted and present and loving… and once the wanting started, it didn’t stop. Not when Gil tried to ignore it and throw himself into dance recitals and fitness and photography. Not when he locked himself in their room and cried himself to sleep more than once when he couldn’t banish the feelings.

It was Alex— brash, snarky, supportive Alex— holding him tightly and saying, over and over again, “You are not broken, you are not a bad person, you are my perfect little brother and I love you so fucking much,” that got him through. And in the late nights when their father was obliviously asleep down the hall, Gil whispered his fantasies into Alex’s ear while Alex fucked him.

But this was better than any fantasy. The sturdy strength in his father’s thighs, in his broad arms that clung to them, the desperation in his voice when he groaned his pleasure...

The _look_ in his eyes when he came in their hands, stunned and shattered.

How could something Gil wanted for so long have gone so _wrong?_

“ _Alex_...” he said helplessly, overwhelmed tears beginning to gather and sting in his eyes.

Alex leaned in, dropping his forehead to press against Gil’s. “I know, baby. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Whatever happens, we still have each other.”

Gil nodded, unable to speak. For a moment it was quiet, the only sound in the kitchen their tandem breathing. But then Alex’s face suddenly split into a grin, and he whispered conspiratorially, “I told you his dick would be bigger than you thought it was.”

It was enough to startle Gil out of his tangled thoughts; he smacked Alex on the shoulder and sputtered, “Fuck you, you’re an asshole,” huffing a surprised laugh through his tears despite himself while Alex smirked.

“I’m _your_ asshole,” Alex said lightly, and the gratitude and affection and love swelled so bright and wild in Gil’s chest that he fisted a hand in Alex’s shirt, hauling him in for a desperate kiss. He whimpered low in his throat, craving _more_ , but Alex pulled back a few moments later with a regretful, “We shouldn’t…”

“I know,” Gil groaned against his mouth. “I just… I _need_ you, Alex.”

“Later,” Alex promised, catching his breath. “When you’re in a better space. When we get this worked out.”

“Gonna hold you to it.”

Alex pressed a gentle kiss to the curls on the top of his head, squeezing him in a reassuring embrace that didn’t end. Gil’s mind started to drift, finally beginning to clear beyond the panic that had held it captive with the help of the safety of Alex’s arms. Too soon, Alex cleared his throat. “Wanna watch a movie with me?”

Gil’s eyes flicked towards the hallway beyond the kitchen, cautious and concerned, the worry still clawing in his gut, the longing to check on their father still strong.

“He’ll talk to us when he’s ready,” Alex reminded him. “We could use a distraction in the meantime.”

“Sure,” Gil agreed quietly, letting Alex pull him to his feet. “A movie sounds good.”

\--

Gil couldn’t focus on the movie at all. It was some spy thriller with too many explosions and not enough dialogue to hold his attention against the building anxiety, the question of _what happens now?_ He kept casting furtive glances over the back of the couch, down the hall to George’s bedroom door. He couldn’t even relax against Alex’s side, against the hand gently carding through his hair or the thumb rubbing circles on his wrists.

George still hadn’t emerged by the time the credits rolled, and Gil pulled himself out of Alex’s arms and sprung up from his seat.

“Gil—” Alex protested, but Gil shook his head at him.

“I need— I have to make sure he’s all right. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Alex said softly, relenting. “Yell if you need help.”

“Will do.”

Gil stepped quietly down the hall until he reached the bedroom door. He knocked lightly. When he got no response, he knocked again and called, “Dad?”

Cautiously, Gil tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he let himself inside. There was something about entering George’s room that made him feel like an intruder. It was almost voyeuristic, intimate in a different way than touching him had been. It wasn’t just the pictures on the bureau: his parents young and smiling and beaming at their wedding, another of them holding an infant Alex, and then an almost identical photo of them holding him as a baby… the last family picture they’d taken of all four of them when Gil was eleven, only a couple months before his mother’s death—

He blinked quickly and tore his eyes away from the frames, but everywhere there were other reminders of everything painful. George’s cologne in a bottle on the nightstand (and Gil could still smell it, deep and spicy as he kissed his father’s neck), the wedding band he still wore sitting next to it, the bed where he and Alex had found George after Martha’s death and had continued to find him there for weeks, lying dead-eyed and unresponsive…

His chest tightened as his gaze swept over the room. He tried not to panic at the lack of response, at the memories that surfaced, too strong to completely quell, but his voice was apprehensive when he called again, “Dad?”

The ensuite door was slightly ajar. His pulse thudded in his ears and he walked over quickly, pushing it open. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of his father lying motionless against the shower. He could smell the acidic tang of bile, and he saw the bottle of pills on the counter and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t _think_. He practically fell on top of George as he grabbed his shoulders and shook them, tears filling his eyes as he shouted, “Dad! Wake up, wake up, _please_ _!”_

George jerked awake, his arms windmilling out as he lurched forward, nearly knocking Gil over. Gil gripped him, steadying him. Relief began to flood through him, but he still shook with barely suppressed sobs.

“Gil?” George asked, voice groggy. “What— Why am I in the bathroom? I— _Oh_.” His face crumpled as he remembered, and he shrunk away from his son. Gil’s grip only tightened.

“I’m sorry,” Gil hiccupped, “I thought— you were on the floor and I saw the pills and I smelled vomit and I thought--”

“Oh, _Gil_ , no, I wouldn’t—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to ruin things and I did and now you hate us. I’m sorry.” Gil withdrew then, curled in on himself as silent sobs racked his body. He thought that if he squeezed his eyes shut tight enough, maybe everything would dissolve away, maybe he’d sweep into nothingness and this horrible, clenching feeling would let him go.

Instead he felt his father’s arms encircling him, pulling him into his lap. Gil still trembled, but he let himself lean against George’s broad chest, let himself relax in the safety of his embrace. Gil had always wondered if it would feel different, _after—_  but despite the rush of panicked feelings threaded under his skin, the hug was still steady and strong and sure.

“Gilbert,” George said softly, “I could never hate you, or Alex. You’re my sons. I love you.”

“But we— we hurt you, Dad. We made you do things you didn’t want. I... nothing can fix that, I’m so _sorry_.”

George made a wounded sound that rumbled in his chest, against Gil’s cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. You have nothing to be sorry for, Gil. You did nothing wrong.”

"But—”

George’s hurried voice cut clear through the fog of panic in Gil’s mind. “Alex was right.”

Gil looked up, his tear-stained face creased in confusion. “What?”

George swallowed, looked somewhere over Gil’s shoulder. His hands shook slightly where they rested on Gil’s back. “When... when I saw you two, I was... I _felt things_. Things that a father should never feel for his children.”

“Dad…” Gil looked at him, awestruck, for one long moment, before wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. The whiplash of emotions was almost too overwhelming to untangle: the reassurance that he and Alex really hadn’t hurt their father, the realization that everything Gil had wanted wasn’t unrequited at all, that George was _here_ and hadn’t left and _wanted them too—_

“You did _nothing wrong,”_ George said fiercely. “Please, Gil. Don't carry this guilt. You did nothing to me that I didn’t want.”

“Don’t you carry it either, Dad,” Gil reminded him. “You didn’t do anything that _we_ didn’t want.”

George trembled, buried his face in Gil’s hair. “I’ll try,” he rasped. “Give me time. But I promise I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Gil whispered, squeezing his father tightly. It didn’t answer the question of what was going to happen _now,_ only that no one was to blame for what _just_ happened. The uncertain future sat heavy in his stomach, but that he could find a way to cope with.

As long as he had his family, everything would be okay.

There was silence for a few moments, until George said hesitantly, “Gil. Can you let me up? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Gil stammered, carefully climbing off George’s lap. He held out a hand and George stared at it for a moment before taking it, pushing himself off from the floor and groaning when he stood at full height. It was George that dropped his hand too quickly and turned away from him to face the vanity, and Gil fought against a renewed surge of tears. He cleared his throat, asking as casually as he could, “Alex and I haven’t eaten yet— do you want something, too?”

George shook his head. “No, thank you. I just want to sleep for awhile.”

Gil retreated to the doorway, watching openly as George opened the medicine bottle at his elbow and shook out one pill into his hand. He swallowed it down with a handful of water from the tap, and when he straightened, he didn’t meet Gil’s eyes when he said quietly, “If you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”

Nodding tightly, Gil did as requested, putting his head down and walking too quickly across the room, hands bunched into his pockets. He was almost at the bedroom door when he heard George say from across the room, in the barest hint of a murmur, “Thank you, Gil.”

When Gil pulled the door shut behind him, he was too preoccupied with blinking the moisture from his eyes to notice Alex standing there, and he nearly barrelled into Alex’s chest. Alex’s eyes were sharp and knowing, his hands gentle as he steadied Gil with a firm grasp on his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you come in?” Gil demanded, staring at his brother. Alex opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of the lock clicking in the doorknob made Gil flinch. “Not here,” Gil interrupted, grabbing Alex’s wrist and dragging him into their bedroom.

He shoved Alex in ahead of him and shut the door a little harder than necessary, locking it in turn. His head fell in a soft thunk against the door and he made a strangled noise of frustration, enough so he could fight back the convoluted swirl of emotions knotted in his stomach, before he turned and looked Alex in the eyes.

Alex studied him from his perch on the bed, his brow furrowed in intense thought. When he finally spoke, his words were carefully measured. “I came running as soon as I heard you scream. I thought… I thought the same thing you did, when I stood in the doorway and saw you two. But when I heard Dad’s voice and you weren’t yelling anymore, I figured things were okay.”

“You could have come in,” Gil protested. “I could have used the backup.”

Alex smiled at him— one of his affectionate, soft smiles that always had Gil melting into a puddle, and this time was no different. He trudged across the room, flopping onto his stomach on the bed next to Alex with an unhappy sigh. Alex lay down next to him, sliding an arm around his waist and burying his face in Gil’s shoulder. “I wanted you to have this,” he said, pressing a kiss to Gil’s throat. “You’ve been thinking about him for a long time, Gil. It was only right that you got to talk to him.”

Gil shivered, wiggling in Alex’s arms until he was facing his brother’s chest. He nestled in as close as he could, sliding his thigh between Alex’s legs, wrapping one arm around Alex’s waist, the other stretched above his head, fingers entwined with Alex’s. He buried his muffled, tentative question in Alex’s hair— “You still love me? Now that the secret’s out?”

Alex made a desperate noise low in his throat, lifting his head and surging forward to take Gil’s lips in a messy kiss. “Always,” Alex said when they finally broke apart for air. “I love you, baby boy.”

“I love you too,” Gil breathed, closing his eyes. He let the silence settle between them, familiar and intimate, then admitted, “I know we were gonna make dinner, but I’m not really hungry, and I need to tell you what Dad told me…”

“We can make dinner and talk later,” Alex said gently, rubbing his back. “Just _relax_. I’m right here, and Dad is right down the hall. Neither one of us are going anywhere.”

With that reassurance, Gil let himself be soothed into the soft comfort of Alex’s arms.


	3. Alexander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter! Thank you all for joining us on this ride <3
> 
> Just a heads up, this chapter contains self harm and mentions of (but no actual) rape. So please proceed with caution!

Alex blearily opened his eyes and groaned at the blaring of his phone alarm and the hint of a sunrise already streaming in through the window. Gil was still wedged against him, head pillowed on Alex’s arm, snoring lightly.

There was no way to move without jostling his brother, and even though Alex was seriously considering playing hooky, the damn alarm was still going off. “Sorry, Gil,” he whispered, gingerly sliding his arm out from underneath Gil’s head. Despite the early hour, Gil’s dissatisfied mumble made him smile, turning into a grimace at the burst of tingling nerves that fired up his arm when he sat up. Snatching his phone from the bedside table, he shut off the alarm and glared at the reminder of his 8:30AM lecture.

“Those lectures always seem like a good idea when you’ve had all break to sleep in,” Gil murmured from where he lay on the bed. He peered up at Alex, relaxed and groggy from sleep. Affection surged through Alex’s chest, affection and regret at the thought of leaving Gil at home alone, after everything.

“I can skip it—”

 _“Alexander,”_ Gil scolded. “Your education is important. Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Gonna hold you to it,” Alex grinned, an echo of Gil’s own words. Gil grinned back, wide and dopey.

“The quicker you go get educated, the quicker you can come home and keep your promise from last night.”

“I’m not sure if that’s motivation or a distraction, but all right.” Alex bent down and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his brother’s lips. “Wait for me?”

“Always.”

\-- 

Alex tapped his fingers in a steady rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove, too keyed up and vibrating with restless energy to listen to music, too overloaded to listen to the loud-mouthed morning DJs anyway, so distracted that he almost missed the turnoff for his usual coffee shop. He cursed and cut across three lanes of traffic, sliding between the cars with an ease that would have made Gil jealous and George shake his head—

He hit the steering wheel with more force, his order at the drive through more clipped and terse than usual, even for this time of morning. He downed a significant portion of his venti dark roast on the commute, and finished the rest as he walked halfway across campus after parking in one of the farthest lots. Even so, he made it to class with seven minutes to spare, and immediately pulled out his phone as soon as he slid into his seat.

Seven minutes was too long a time for his mind to be left to its own devices, and without Gil or John or Herc sharing this class, there was nothing else to do but scroll restlessly through the internet, and type and erase messages to Gil before he even sent them. _Are you okay?_ Backspace. _Is Dad still there?_ Backspace. _What the fuck—_

For some reason, he couldn’t make himself type the _What the fuck are we doing?_ tumbling around in his thoughts before he erased it. On the rare occasions where he and Gil had let themselves talk about the future, they talked about sitting George down, carefully revealing their relationship, and evaluating how that conversation went and _then—_  hopefully someday— broaching the possibility of _more_.

The unexpected discovery, a few fleeting moments of incendiary pleasure, then impending meltdowns from everyone in the damn house— that was _not_ in the plan.

“Mr. Washington,” he heard above his shoulder, and looked up to see his professor standing over him with a frown. “I suggest you start on the quiz before your time is up.”

A quick glance around the classroom confirmed that the rest of his peers had their heads bent over their desks, pens and pencils working furiously. “Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his notebook out of his bag and tearing out a sheet of paper. “Family stuff.”

“Don’t care,” Dr. Greene said dryly, “as long as you turn that in completed within the time limit.”

The quiz, written up on the board, was over material Alex read two weeks ago, so he breezed through it before a few students who had started working before him were even finished. When he flipped the quiz over, he gave a thumbs up to his professor, who gave him a long suffering look before turning his attention back to his stack of papers.

Alex’s phone buzzed a minute later, and his fingers _itched_ to pick it up and check it. He didn’t though; the classroom policy was clear, and the last thing Alex needed in the middle of his junior year of college was an accusation of cheating. But the second Dr. Greene advised them to hand their papers to the front, Alex held his up in one hand and snagged his phone in the other, clicking it just long enough to skim whatever text he’d received.

_COME HOME_

His heart surged into his throat, and suddenly the coffee that felt so necessary sloshed painfully in his stomach. He couldn’t think beyond the pounding in his head of _Gil, Gil, Gil,_ and stuffed his quiz into the hand of the person in front of him before grabbing his messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He was already dialing and shoving his phone against his ear as he strode out of the room; Gil picked up on the first ring with an immediate, _“I’m sorry, Alex, I’m so sorry.”_

“I didn’t need to be there anyway.” Even through his own apprehension and the need to catch his breath as he practically ran across campus, he fought to keep his voice level and reassuring. “What’s going on?”

_“I got up to get breakfast after you left and I was eating cereal and Dad came out and I asked him how he was and he said he was okay but he looked like hell and I asked him if he wanted to talk about it and he snapped at me and left and I don’t know where he went and he won’t answer my calls—”_

“Slow down, baby,” Alex soothed, though his anger flared hot under his skin. He slid into the car and started it up, barely sparing a glance to his mirrors before he was tearing out of the parking lot. “What exactly did he say to you?”

_“He said— fuck, he said— I don’t remember everything, I’m sorry…”_

“Just try your best.”

 _“He said—he said that— When I asked him if he wanted to talk about it, he said, ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ And I, I think I said something like, ‘You just seem really upset, you can talk to me about it. I want to know how you feel.’ And—”_ Gil hiccupped, sniffed loudly. _“Sorry, I’m sorry.”_

“Shh, baby boy, it’s okay. Just breathe, okay? You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”

 _“No, I want to. He said… He said, I think, ‘_ _What do you want me to say, Gil? That I_ enjoyed _it? That I can’t remember the last time I came so goddamn hard? That I can’t stop thinking about my sons in a way I shouldn’t, and it fucking_ hurts? _’ Um. That was the gist of it…”_

Alex swore, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. “Jesus. I’m sorry he went off at you Gil, you don’t deserve that, fuck. I’ll try to talk to him, okay?”

_“Maybe we should give him space, I don’t know…”_

“He doesn’t get to fucking snap at you and then storm off like that. I’ll call him.”

_“Okay. Put your phone on speaker phone when you do, I need you to get home to me.”_

Alex sighed. “I will, Gil. I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hold tight. I love you.”

_“I love you too.”_

He hung up and took a steadying breath. The impulse was there, bright and hot in his veins: the urge to explode, to tear, to make their father hurt like he hurt Gil, like he had hurt both of them for so many years with his distance and devastation and selfishness. But he promised his brother he would be _safe_ , and safe didn’t include getting into a screaming match while hurtling down the highway.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed the auto dial for George’s cell. Unlike Gil— and unsurprisingly— George didn’t pick up immediately. By the fourth ring Alex resigned himself to mentally composing a non-incriminating message he could feasibly leave in the voicemail box, but then the connection clicked on and the self-composure he struggled so hard for dissipated in his hissed, “How _dare_ you.”

 _“Alex.”_ His father’s voice was tired and weary, though Alex couldn’t make himself feel a single shred of empathy, not when Gil’s sniffles still echoed in his ears. _“What do you want?”_

“I want you to think about your _son,”_ he snarled, and by the sudden, too still silence on the other end of the line, realized it was the wrong thing to say. But the words were no less genuine or true despite the discomfort they so obviously inspired, so he stumbled through: “You know how fucked up Gil gets over being left alone unexpectedly, and you just did it, _again!_ ”

 _“I couldn’t stay,”_ George said sternly; Alex could imagine, from long experience of being on the receiving end, his father’s lips pursed in a thin line, the exasperation on his face. _“After what we did—”_

 _“Fine_ _,”_ Alex snapped, “Fine. It’s a lot to get used to, I’ll give you that. But if you’re gonna take your shit out on anyone, take it out on _me,_ not Gil. He deserves better and you know it.”

 _“He_ does _deserve better,”_ George agreed, abruptly dangerously smooth and commanding, the Lawyer Voice that meant that he was already thinking three steps ahead. Alex’s shoulders tensed just in time for him to hear his father say, _“What the fuck were you thinking, letting this happen?”_

“He’s always been willing—”

_“Gil was sixteen when you started this—this thing—”_

“He was old enough to make his own decisions!”

 _“You were old enough to_ know better! _”_ George thundered, and Alex gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. _“My god, Alex, that’s statutory rape.”_

Alex blinked furiously against the haze that swam across his vision, tried to form a response over the high-pitched buzzing in his ears and the blood pounding furiously in his throat. “I didn’t… I would never…”

_“In the eyes of the law, you did.”_

“What, in _your_ eyes, too?”

_“That’s not what I’m saying.”_

“Then why fucking _say_ it? You all but accused me of— of—” He couldn’t force himself to voice _that word,_ awful and abhorrent and not true, it _wasn’t_ true, it was _never_ true— “I would give _anything_ for Gil, you know that! I would never hurt him!”

 _“I don’t know_ anything _about you anymore.”_

His breath hitched, snagged somewhere over the gnawing, frantic ache struggling to burst free. The dark chuckle he intended was more like a wet rasp, a choke of, “And I don’t know how he sees anything good in _you.”_

_“Alex—”_

_“Fuck you_ _.”_ He jammed the end call button on his phone and it sat heavy in his hand, waiting for him to slam it against the dash in overwhelmed frustration or throw it carelessly into the backseat. Instead, he shoved it into the empty cupholder a little more vigorously than was wise, but he couldn’t be concerned about it, not _now._ His hands were shaking, his chest tight, and he steadied himself only with thoughts of Gil waiting for him, needing him, desperately trying not to let his father’s accusation wind its way too deeply into his mind.

It was a losing battle.

\--

He made it through the front door before the weight of George’s words came crashing down on him. And Gil, his only levee holding back the waves of self hatred, wasn’t there to greet him. His hands flew to his head, fisting his hair tightly, hard enough to sting his scalp. A horrible, wounded noise tore from his throat, his body shuddering. He pulled at his hair, but the twinge wasn’t enough to cut through the twisting in his chest. He slumped face first against the wall, his forehead slamming against the plaster in frustration. Then again, harder, the pain clarifying his thoughts for the split second before it faded.

He did it again and again, the sick sound of bone smacking against the wall echoing in his head and drowning out everything else. The pain that flooded through his skull washed away George’s words. It felt like absolution.

He was only stopped by a palm cushioning his forehead from the wall, by a hand gently wrapped around one of the fists still tangled in his hair.

“Alex,” he heard Gil’s soft voice say through the ringing in his skull, “Alex, baby, stop.”

He let Gil pull him back into his arms, let him gently pry his hands from his hair. Gil twined their fingers together and crossed their arms over Alex’s chest, holding him secure.

“I’ve got you,” Gil said into Alex’s hair. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a shattered sob that forced itself from his chest. Gil shushed him, steered him towards their bedroom. It wasn’t until Gil had them lying on their bed, Alex tucked up against Gil’s chest, that his brother spoke again.

“What happened, baby?”

It took Alex a long moment to get his head to work around the words, to get his thoughts to line up with the movements of his mouth. All he managed was a faint, “Dad.”

He could hear the frown in Gil’s voice. “Why? What’s going on? Is he okay?”

A sore, sardonic chuckle was Alex’s response. It took him another long stretch of minutes before the fog in his head cleared enough for him to speak a full sentence.

“He basically… he accused me of— of—” he spat the words out like they were poison, “ _raping_ you.”

Alex felt Gil’s grip on him tighten, heard the angry flare of breath, felt it against the back of his neck.

“How fucking _dare he_ _,”_ Gil growled. “How could he— he _knows_ you, how could he—”

“But maybe he’s right,” Alex said quickly, blinking furiously against the tears gathering in his eyes. “You were— you were only sixteen, I was an adult, I shouldn’t have—”

 _“Don’t,”_ Gil cut in, voice firm. The same voice Gil used when he was in control, when he pinned Alex down and made the cacophony in his head stop. “I knew what I was doing, I’m the one who _started it_. Don’t let him make you believe that you hurt me.”

Alex shuddered, melted a little in Gil’s arms. He needed to hear that voice again, needed to hear his brother tell him that this wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a monster. Needed to feel like Gil was in control, no matter what their father said.

“Please,” Alex begged, shifting his hips back unsubtly, “please, Gil, I need…”

Gil pressed his palm to Alex’s forehead, his voice suddenly unsure. “Are you sure? Do you feel like you’re concussed at all? I don’t know if we should…”

“I’m fine, please, everything is so _loud_ _,_ Gil, _please.”_

The brush of Gil’s lips against the nape of his neck was soft, but firm. “I’m gonna take care of you,” Gil reassured him, low and earnest; Alex groaned and burrowed further into Gil’s arms. “Close your eyes.”

Alex did as directed without another thought; he _trusted_ Gil, implicitly, so it was easy to relax in the steadiness of his brother’s embrace, to let his eyes drift closed and block out everything else that wasn’t the warmth of Gil curled around him, the weight of his hand splayed low on Alex’s stomach, his pleased hum.

“Can I fuck you?” Gil whispered against the shell of Alex’s ear. “Let me finger you open, big brother?”

The appellation, that acknowledgement of _exactly_ who they were to each other, was a live wire searing through every nerve, every time as vibrant and electric as the first time Gil had ever said it. “Oh god,” Alex gasped, _“yes,_ do it.”

He felt Gil grin against his cheek and Alex shivered under the gentle kiss pressed to his jaw. Gil’s hand tightened on his front— a wordless directive to _stay still—_  and he complied, even though his whole body wanted to vibrate with restless anticipation. The bed shifted and a short burst of chill ran along his spine as Gil rolled away from him, the drawer in the nightstand rattling open and then shut.

“Let’s get these clothes off.” At Gil’s murmur, Alex obediently manoeuvred his arms to help Gil tug off his hoodie and shirt, shimmied his hips so they could work off Alex’s jeans and boxers. He heard and felt the soft brush of fabric as Gil hurriedly stripped off his own clothes, and when his brother curled back around him in a sudden shock of full skin on skin contact, Alex couldn’t stop shaking. Gil had seen him in more exposed states than this: legs spread wide as he jerked off while his brother watched, laying face down and ass up in their bed and crying into the sheets as Gil ate him out, kneeling naked on the floor with his hands bound behind his back and the taste and weight of his brother’s cock in his mouth… but this time felt overwhelmingly significant, proof that no matter what their father did or said, that their relationship was _good_ and _right—_

“Feel that?” Gil asked, hand tightening on his waist, cock hot and hard and grinding on his ass. “That’s how much I want you.”

Alex couldn’t form a single coherent thought past the blinding, molten slush his brain had melted into; he only had enough presence of mind to rasp, “I’m yours,” clutching Gil’s hand and sliding it between his legs. _“Please …”_

“And I’m yours.”

The tenderness made Alex’s throat tighten; he blinked away a sudden surge of tears stinging his eyes, tried to relax as Gil caressed him, just enough to tease, then withdrew his hand. There was a soft click behind him and his brother shifted around him, nudging apart his thighs, and then two slick fingers were pressing deep and intimate, mercilessly working him open. Alex keened, bearing down on the fingers he knew as well as his own, trembling at the surges of pleasure that coursed through his body— and when he couldn’t stand the delay for a second longer, bit out, “ _More_ , please, I’m ready.”

 _“Alex_ …” Gil moaned, head resting against his back, sounding as lost and overcome as Alex felt.

“I _need_ you, little brother,” Alex whined. Gil’s breath hitched and he pulled his fingers away, Alex whimpering at the sudden loss. He rolled onto his back, Gil spreading his legs apart even further and fitting himself between Alex’s thighs. Gil’s cock was slick and he slid inside slowly, Alex gasping, sharp and shattered, at the feeling of fullness, of completion, of _home_. With his eyes closed, the sensations were more intense, but it wasn’t _enough_.

 _“Fuck me,”_ he groaned, and Gil shifted his hips in a quick, pointed thrust that had Alex nearly arching off the bed, nails scoring a desperate line down Gil’s back. Gil draped himself fully over Alex, caging in his shoulders with his long, toned arms, leveraging himself and fucking in relentlessly, fast and jolting and utterly perfect.

“Like this?”

“Yes,  _fuck,_ oh my god—”

 _“Look at me_ _,_ Alex,” Gil said in _that_ voice as Alex felt himself edging steadily closer to his peak, reduced to nearly incoherent sobbing and helpless to resist. He pried his eyes open to see Gil flushed and gorgeous and staring at him with wonder and heat in his heavy gaze.

Alex clung to him tighter, begging, _“Please_ _,_ Gil, _yes,”_ and then his mouth opened on a strangled scream as he came, writhing on Gil’s cock. Only a few thrusts more and then Gil was crying out his name in his ear, spilling deep inside him, filling him up for Alex to feel for hours after. Gil pulled out gently, slowly lowering himself on his arms to rest more firmly against Alex’s chest. They lay there panting, foreheads pressed together, both of them shaking and clinging to each other.

“Thank you,” Alex slurred; the sated tug of bliss coursing through his body cut through the frenzied, frantic haze that had captured his mind, and his thoughts were mercifully quiet and clear.

Gil smiled at him, earnest and proud— a look that never failed to tug at Alex’s heart. “Anytime.”

They nestled together for awhile longer, floating in the afterglow, disturbed only when Alex’s stomach rumbled. Gil poked his side, half playful, half serious when he asked, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I know you don’t want me to _actually_ answer that.”

Groaning, Gil untangled himself from Alex’s arms and climbed off the bed. He pulled on his clothes, then snagged a towel from the folded laundry basket by the bedroom door and threw it in Alex’s direction. “Clean up. You’re a mess.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Gil laughed, loud and vibrant, and tossed Alex’s clothes on the bed next to him while Alex wiped himself down. Alex had his pants on and was tugging his shirt over his chest when Gil asked, suddenly subdued, “Is Dad right?”

Alex froze.

“Not about _us_ _,”_ Gil amended hastily. Alex relaxed, turning to face his brother, putting a gentle hand on his arm to relax the stricken look on his face. “Of _course_ not. I mean… him. Wanting him. Are we doing the right thing?”

“There’s nothing about this that’s the ‘right’ thing. You and I both know that. So what do you _want?_ ”

“He _hurt_ you, Alex.”

“He hurt you, too.”

Gil swallowed, looking down at the floor. “I still… I want to try. Am I a bad person, that after all that—”

 _“No,”_ Alex said, cutting him off. “You’ve never been a bad person a single day in your entire fucking life.”

“But we have to agree, _all_ of us, or this won’t work.”

“Well, I’m in,” Alex declared. Not just for Gil’s sake, though the desire to make his brother happy, to see that stunning grin spread across his face, was incentive enough. But Gil hadn’t been the only one craving their father’s attention when he had none to give, and felt the loss so acutely that it perpetually ached. Gil wasn’t the only one who had ogled him, shirtless and clad only in swimming trunks, on the rare summer days the three of them would take an afternoon and go to the beach and for a few glorious, fleeting hours, they were a _family_ again… albeit one with unspoken, _very_ illicit longings.

And after everything— after every slight, every wrong, every failing, deliberate and unintended— he still loved his father fiercely, if tumultuously.

How could he say no?

“And remember, Gil? Whatever he decides, it’s you and me. That will _never_ change.”

Gil beamed at him, going to pull Alex in for a hug, but Alex’s stomach growled a second, much more audible time— so instead, his brother grabbed his arm with a chuckle and dragged him across the bedroom, opening the door and maneuvering them through the hallway, all without dropping his hand.

“I’m not a baby,” Alex teased. Gil rolled his eyes.

“You’ll waste away if _someone_ doesn’t make sure you get fed.”

Gil didn’t let go of him until they reached the kitchen, turning around to rummage in the cabinet and muttering to himself. It was so familiar— Gil fussing over him, puttering around, his shirt riding up when he reached for a high shelf, baring a strip of his gorgeous skin— that Alex couldn’t help himself. He shuffled forward, sliding his arms around Gil’s waist, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder.

Gil hummed happily, twining his fingers with Alex’s, and for a moment everything was _normal_ and _okay_ again—

And then a familiar dry cough sounded behind his shoulder, and he dropped his arms and whirled to see his father leaning against the doorway, eyes fixed firmly on their faces, pointedly not looking at the the space where the press of his and Gil’s bodies meaningfully against each other had been only seconds before.

Alex opened his mouth to ask _what the fuck are you doing here?_ _,_ or maybe _didn’t you learn your goddamn lesson the first time?,_ but before he could say a word Gil was edging around him, shoulders squared, silently putting himself between them— and Gil was facing their father, not him. Alex’s mouth dropped further in shock, and by the slight widening of George’s eyes, he hadn’t expected it, either.

“Dad,” Gil said coolly. “How long have you been home?”

George quickly looked away, his fingers digging into the door frame. “Long enough.”

“Oh my _god,”_ Alex interrupted, elbowing his way past his brother. He _knew_ that flush, the edge of guilt and penance written into every line of George’s posture, the way he couldn’t quite meet their questioning gazes. “Long enough for a little one-on-one time, huh?”

His father flinched, but didn’t say anything, and that was answer enough for Alex to hiss, “Trying to make yourself feel better about everything by jerking off to us when we don’t know you’re around? You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“That’s none of your _concern,_ Alexander—”

“Are we _really_ having this argument again?” Alex laughed, harsh and bitter. “It’s our _concern_ if you’ll _use us_ while being too much of a coward to admit how you feel!”

“Whoa, time _out!_ _”_ Gil put a steady hand on Alex’s chest— to hold him back or soothe him, Alex wasn’t sure. “Dad, is there something you need to say to us? Alex,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at his brother, _“please_ , stop for a second and listen.”

Alex huffed and crossed his arms, but relented. “Fine,” he muttered. He eyed George expectantly.

“Dad?” Gil prompted, still standing between Alex and George.

George’s jaw was visibly set, his expression hard. _“Yes_. All right? I’m a coward, and a hypocrite, and a _menace,”_ he spat, “because I heard the two of you and all I owed you was an _apology_ and instead all I could think was—”

He cut himself off, lips thinning into an uneasy line, a wave of what Alex could recognize now as nausea passing over his face. Gil’s breath caught, his hand twitching where it still rested on Alex’s chest. When the silence stretched on too long, the three of them staring at each other in growing apprehension, Alex finally urged, “Was _what?_ ”

Their father sighed, shaky and ragged, running a hand wearily across his face. “Was why wasn’t I _there_.”

 _“Oh,”_ Gil said, stunned and soft. “You… you really…”

George closed his eyes, almost as if in pain. Nodded, slowly.

The vindication that Alex expected to feel at finally getting George to admit the damn truth, for once, was dwarfed by the sudden, overwhelming clarity that he was _right_. That _they_ were right, he and Gil, and the rush was so heady that he nearly missed George saying, “I still need to apologize. Gil, I should never have forced my distress on you, and I shouldn’t have left the house like that. It was cruel, and I’m sorry.”

Gil swallowed heavily, but stayed quiet.

“Alex…” George said, his voice delicate and careful; Alex tensed, but didn’t interrupt. “That I was terrified when I learned the truth is no excuse. I should never have… _accused_ you of what I did, and you will never know how much I regret it. How much I regret how I’ve handled all of this.”

Alex couldn’t bring himself to speak, not even when George looked him straight in the eyes and said helplessly, “I’m sorry. You deserve better. Both of you do,” before turning and starting to walk away. He glanced at Gil, and knew immediately what his brother was going to say before the words were even out of his mouth. Didn’t protest, because despite the hurt, despite the pain—

Everything they wanted was _here_. So _close_. Wasn’t that worth the fight they’d been through already?

Gil’s question was soft, but sure. “What if we forgive you? What happens now?”

It halted George in his tracks; he hesitated, then faced them once more. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

“To fuck,” Alex said bluntly; Gil elbowed him, and Alex elbowed back. Before George’s eyes could completely widen so much they dropped out of his head, he added hastily, “To just… love each other again.”

“We can do that without this,” George argued. “It doesn’t have to be like this! I don’t… understand,” he sighed, forcefully rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Did I do something? To make you this way?”

Alex shrugged. “Does it matter where it comes from? This is what it is, now.”

“You know what this means, if we do this? The secrecy, the sneaking around… _no one_ can know about this. If this ever gets out, our lives will be _destroyed.”_

“We know.” Gil nodded solemnly. “We’ve been careful so far. We know what we’re doing.”

George chuckled, though it was dry and weak. “I sure as hell don’t. _Please_ _,_ believe me when I say that I never, _ever_ expected this.” His hands clenched at his sides, his voice tangling into something hoarse and desperate when he continued, “You have to tell me if you change your minds. The very _moment_. I won’t hurt you, especially not like this. I refuse.”

Gil shook his head. “You won’t hurt us—“

_“Promise me.”_

“Okay,” Alex agreed quickly, recognizing the frantic, worried edge in his father’s eyes. “Okay. We promise.” He waited until the relief bled through George’s posture, until his shoulders relaxed, and then: “So… you’re saying you want this, too?”

George swallowed and closed his eyes. “Yes. God help us all, yes.”

Alex felt a smile crack across his face, despite himself. He saw the same hope blossom in Gil, his eyes widening and his face beaming.

“Do you mean it?” Gil asked, suddenly sounding so young. Vulnerable.

“Yes, Gil,” George said quietly, “I do.”

Gil launched himself at George, wrapping his arms around him and clinging tight. “Thank you,” he said, voice tight. “I promise it’ll be worth it, I _promise.”_

George hesitantly wrapped his arms around Gil, bowed his head to press his forehead against the top of Gil’s head.

Gil turned towards Alex, looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Alex?” he asked, and Alex went, folded himself into the embrace.

“We can’t go back from this,” George mumbled as he adjusted around Alex, resting his hand on the nape of Alex’s neck. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

In all the private, quiet moments Alex had let himself fantasize about this— Gil’s familiar, lanky warmth wrapped around him, his cheek pressed against the broad strength of his father’s chest, the three of them _together_ again— he hadn’t realized, hadn’t let himself _hope_ _,_ that it would be this good. “No,” he murmured, an overwhelming surge of _feeling_ rising in his chest, light and bright and more perfect than he could have ever imagined. “It’ll be better.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to us on tumblr! We're aidennestorm and liese-l.
> 
> And of course, comments and kudos bring us life <3


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